


Fixed Point

by triggeringthehealing (froggydarren)



Series: Inked Into My Skin [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Tattoo, reference to Claudia Stilinski, reference to canonical death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 20:56:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1662140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggydarren/pseuds/triggeringthehealing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Stiles has drawn the tattoo design months ago. He wanted to get one before he ever mentioned it to anyone. All he needs is to be eighteen so that his father's approval isn't necessary - though that doesn't mean Stiles doesn't want it.</i><br/>Aka: How Stiles got his <a href="http://triggeringthehealing.tumblr.com/post/86197233854/stiles-tattoo-of-claudias-initials-from-my">first tattoo</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fixed Point

The first time he brings it up to his Dad, the answer is simple.

“No.”

Stiles tries to protest, tries to plead his case, but the Sheriff doesn’t budge. It’s only months before Stiles’ eighteenth birthday, but bringing that up earns him a weekend’s worth of being grounded. The ink has to wait, though. He spends days tracing the letters, the simple curve of the C and the more flourished one of the S behind it. There is research that he’s done, of course there is, because Stiles doesn’t do anything without looking at all options.

He wanted to use her handwriting, but decided against it in the end. Despite his Dad’s insistence that he’s too young to know what he wants, Stiles _does know_. He wants her with him, wants to have a mark that will remind him, wants to carry her with him at all times. So when the few months pass, he drags a protesting Scott to a dirty little dive that someone recommended, a different one to the place where Scott got his unsuccessful tattoo.

“Stiles, I…” Scott eyes him warily, palm on the spot where his own mark is underneath his jacket and shirt.

“You knew then, didn’t you?” Stiles asks, not without a little frustration at how he’s being questioned. “Have you regretted it since?”

“No,” Scott shakes his head. “Okay,” he nods then, like he’s resigned.

It doesn’t hurt, nowhere near as much as what he’s already gone through, and the buzzing of the tattoo gun lulls Stiles’ mind. He may have panicked at the needle going into Scott’s arm back when Scott got his tattoo, but it turns out that he’s become more resilient and used to the sight of the needle since then. The process is over fast and he gets the instructions to care for it, then gets a peek at the raw spot on his ribs. It looks only a little like the design he put together but he knows it needs to heal.

“Any regrets?” Scott asks when Stiles squirms in his seat on the drive back.

“Nope,” Stiles answers immediately. “Maybe about bringing you with, you drive too slowly, man.”

“Do you really want to get to Derek’s this fast, with fresh blood on you?” Scott smirks. “You know he’ll go into panic mode immediately, right?”

“Fuck you,” Stiles grumbles when the truth of the words registers. “He will have to deal. It’s my skin.”

“Exactly,” Scott remarks and ignores Stiles’ inquiring gaze until they get past the town limits back in Beacon Hills.

It takes about five seconds from the moment that they cross the threshold of Derek’s new place before Stiles is pressed against a wall by an angry werewolf.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Derek growls.

“Nothing, _god_ , I’m fine,” Stiles sighs, and then reaches down to tug on the bottom of his hoodie. “I’m not hurt, Derek.”

“There’s blood _somewhere_ , Stiles, and unless you have something to share about genders…” Derek breathes in and then freezes, his fingers still curled around Stiles’ arms. “That’s … _what_ did you do?”

“Oh, the wolf finally stopped to smell the _ink_ , too?”

“Don’t be sassy.”

“You mean, don’t be _me_?” Stiles smirks, and hears Scott chuckle lightly from the other side of the room.

Finally, Derek moves away a little and Stiles pulls his hoodie up, revealing the bandage on his new tattoo.

“Can’t take this off just yet,” he shrugs, “but when it’s healed, I can give you a show, sourwolf.”

Derek growls quietly in response, but he steps away and takes his hands off Stiles.

“A little warning would have been nice,” Derek says then, already walking back to the couch, “you know, next time you plan on coming in here smelling of blood.”

“Aw, I didn’t know you cared,” Stiles smirks.

He’s still leaning against the wall that he was pressed into moments earlier, but his limbs don’t seem to be willing to cooperate when he tries to move. There’s a low thrum of ache under the bandage that’s covering his tattoo, though it’s not strong enough to warrant his inability to walk. But now that Derek’s hands are no longer on him, Stiles feels odd, like he can’t hold himself up properly. Finally, he pushes off the wall, but the moment the support of it is gone, he’s swaying and dizzy.

“Whoa,” he lets out quietly and reaches behind himself to steady his body.

Scott almost immediately shoots out of the chair he was making himself comfortable in, and he’s by Stiles’ side in a few long strides.

“You okay? Did he…” Scott starts but before he can finish, Stiles shakes his head.

“No, no, I’m fine, Scott, just got dizzy. You know me and my coordination, that’s totally not changed,” he rambles, immediately feeling the embarrassment causing his cheeks to heat up.

“Stiles,” Scott asks with a warning in his voice, obviously knowing that Stiles is trying to lie.

“It’s fine, Scott, I promise,” Stiles adds, already feeling steadier.

He hopes that he’s sounding more convincing this time. Or at least that Scott’s habit of having a short attention span has not suddenly gotten lost, and that he can get away with the white lie.

“Does it hurt?” Scott asks after a moment of silence and nods towards the bandage, still peeking from underneath the hoodie.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Stiles says with a smirk.

“That’s not as reassuring as you might think, dude,” Scott rolls his eyes.

“I have a feeling telling Dad will be worse than this.”

“Dude, wait, you told me he was okay with this!” Scott tenses. “He’s gonna _kill me_.”

“He will not,” Stiles says firmly.

He moves over to the couch and hisses when he slumps into the cushions of Derek’s sofa.

“Well, no, wait, I don’t know if he has any wolfsbane bullets from Chris,” he adds offhandedly to Scott.

The moment Scott’s face falls and Stiles sees the panic rise through his friend, he also hears a chuckle from the direction that Derek’s sitting in. That adds to Stiles’ own amusement at Scott’s nervousness, and he doesn’t bother trying to offer words of reassurance. Hell, for all he knows, his Dad will find a way to blame _Derek_ for Stiles’ tattoo, and Scott should know by now that he’ll escape the Sheriff’s wrath unscathed.

He’s proven right when he eventually gets home, the tattoo still fresh, but the ache gone. Instead, Stiles gets found out sooner than he planned to because it starts itching and he can’t help resting his hand on top of the bandage.

“I thought the monsters of the week took a break,” his Dad remarks when Stiles squirms in his chair as they’re eating dinner. “Is there something I should be aware of?”

Stiles freezes and replies, “no, Dad, it’s nothing,” a little too fast, earning himself a raised eyebrow.

“Really, it’s nothing dangerous, no supernatural creeps anywhere in Beacon Hills.”

“Now, we both know that’s not true,” John says in a dry tone, “since your best friend hasn’t magically turned human, as far as I’m aware. And Derek’s still in town, too, with the pack.”

“Okay, nothing _unwelcome_ and supernatural is anywhere in Beacon Hills,” Stiles says with a sigh.

“Uh-huh,” John nods unconvincingly. “So what is it then that’s got you so jumpy?”

“Dad, come on, when am I ever _not_ jumpy?”

“This is a different kind of jumpy, though, son,” the Sheriff frowns. “This is ‘I’ve done something stupid and ended up hurt’ kind of skittish.”

“Dad,” Stiles groans.

“ _Stiles_ ,” John mimics and smirks, but the frown doesn’t disappear from his face.

Stiles finally sighs and leans back in his chair before he speaks.

“Okay, promise me you’re not going to freak out?”

“Yeah, because you opening with that is totally not a reason to be concerned.”

“Do you want to know or do you just want to be a smart-ass, Dad?”

“Hey, kid, watch your language,” John narrows his eyes. “You might be eighteen, but that’s no reason to…” he stops and his eyes widen. “Okay, hold on, you’re eighteen.”

“Really, Dad? I didn’t notice, is that what the big party last week was about? You know, with the _eighteen_ candles on the cake and all.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass,” John says shortly. “This isn’t going to be about you dating Derek or something, is it?”

Stiles almost spits out the drink he was just trying to gulp down and coughs when some of it manages to go down the wrong way.

“What? Dad, _no_ , why would you even think that?”

The Sheriff shakes his head, but doesn’t answer. Before Stiles can even try asking again, though, his Dad gives him a glare that is a clear indication that Stiles should spill the beans.

“Okay, really, though, I’m eighteen now so this was totally my right to do, just so we’re clear,” Stiles starts to ramble while he’s tugging on the shirt covering up the bandage. “So I don’t want to hear anything about rash decisions, since I’ve been planning to do this for at least a year now, as you know.”

Finally, he manages to pull the shirt up and tries not to wince when he tugs to remove the tape off his skin. He can feel his Dad’s eyes on him, but doesn’t look up until the tattoo is revealed. The edges are still red, but the blood that seeped to the surface is clotted and mostly dry.

“Stiles,” the Sheriff breathes out, his eyes wide as he takes in the curves of the letters.

“I know you said no first, but,” Stiles starts, then pauses to take a steadying breath before he launches into a stuttered explanation. “I wanted to have her close, somehow. After everything, this was the one way I could think of that I couldn’t lose.”

“It’s … oh god, I want to be angry at you, son,” John whispers after a small pause. “I can’t though. You know I thought, when you mentioned a tattoo, I thought it was going to be a pack thing. Something that you might want to leave behind at some point, with college and everything. This is…”

Stiles can see the tears building in his Dad’s eyes and his own start stinging at the sight.

“Dad, don’t start crying now, or I will too,” he tries to chastise his Dad but there is no heat in his words.

“It’s your own fault, kid,” John replies with a smile matching the one that tugs on Stiles’ lips.

“So I take it you’re not going to attempt to parent me and ground me for this?” Stiles asks and waves towards the fresh tattoo.

“Not like that would work anyway,” Stiles’ Dad says with resignation lacing his tone. “But no, I won’t. I’d have come with you, if you’d told me.”

“Next time, okay?”

“Wait, are you _already_ planning another one? Should I book you a cell at the station for when you’re the picture of an outlaw?”

Stiles rolls his eyes at his Dad’s laughter and teasing and then looks down at the black ink. He’s not thinking of getting another one _just yet_ , but the sight of the mark on his skin does make him wonder for a moment how a triskele would look on his pale skin.

“Not quite yet,” he says instead of voicing those thoughts. “Let me survive the healing process of this one first.”

“Good luck with _not_ scratching it when it starts to itch,” John smirks. “I may not have one of my own, but I’ve dealt with enough people going through that.”

“I’ll just,” Stiles waves towards the stairs, “go put the salve on, okay?”

He rushes to his bedroom and wipes the sensitive and still irritated skin off gently, and then tugs the tub he was given at the tattoo parlor out of his backpack. When his fingers rub over the letters, he smiles, knowing that he’s made the right decision.


End file.
